Her Ghost
by Not Quite
Summary: She wonders if it will ever leave him, if the ghosts will ever fade. The ghosts that dull that smile, the ghosts that he loves, the ones that he has to hold onto in order to hold onto anything. LupinTonks OneShot


**AN:** Well. So Christmas break is here and I'm bored. Thus, I continue these one-shots at two in the morning, because Lupin and Tonks make me happy. Lyrics are from Like Humans Do by David Byrne. Please read and reveiw!

**_Disclaimer_**: So they're not mine. I've come to terms with it.

* * *

_I'm breathin in_

_I'm breathin out _

_So slip inside this funky house _

_Dishes in the sink _

_The TV's in repair _

_Don't look at the floor _

_Don't go up the stairs

* * *

_

She had asked him for some way to alleviate the boredom of being trapped in Grimmaud Place, and lo and behold he had given her free reign of his books. They were stacked neatly in the corner of the room he kept here, an abandoned mug of Earl Grey close by. It's stone cold, she discovers by taking a sip and then pulling a face. She takes in the surroundings. Small bed with rumpled sheets, a tattered robe folded carefully on a wheaterbeaten armchair. Not much to make the place personal.

Nymphadora Tonks likes personal.

On a whim, she crouches to inspect under the bed. Dust bunnies galore. She sneezes, and runs a hand through tonight's short, dark hair to rid it of any dust particles. She's disappointed. There isn't a thing under there to indicate that he had made any effort in claiming the room as his. She herself had dirty socks, moldy back copies of some broom catalogue she had ordered on a whim and hadn't had the time to unsubscribe to, a single lone slipper (she had lost its mate), a variable horde of ancient Simon and Garfunkel records, and a scuffed tin she hid biscuits in residing under her own bed. The underside of Lupin's bed seemed to her a great statement about the man himself. Neatness aside, she imagines it means that he is simply passing time here, not living here.

She turns her attention back to the books. Mostly classics and obscure poets, naturally. She selects a small copy of Utopia from the bottom of the stack, chewing her lip in concentration as to not cause the whole neat stack to collapse. It's a futile effort. Grunting as the books tumble into her lap, Tonks spends an entire ten minutes trying painstakingly to put them back into the orderly column. The finished product closely resembles the leaning tower of Pisa, causing her to recall why she gave up that pottery class. Lupin's Utopia is well worn and soft. She crosses the chilly room and plops down on his bed, leaning against the headboard and carefully opening the book.

A single photograph flutters from it, gracefully slipping to the ground. She picks it up. The lime green nail polish is a sharp contrast to the faded black and white Muggle picture. She traces the pale face of Lupin with a fingertip. He's so much younger, the lines of hardship and the streaks of grey have yet to make an appearance. If she wasn't already in love with him, this picture alone would give her cause to open her heart to the man. He's leaning against Sirius's old Lincoln, smoking. His hair is longer and shaggy. Truth to be told, she thinks he looks a bit like Lennon, a thought that causes her to smile. His own smile is open and honest. It's interesting to see this smile when it lived, before it died and became the endearing ghost it is now. There's a girl sitting near his feet, apparently plucking at the grass. Tonks recognizes her as Lily Potter. Her only memory of Lily was when she had met her as a child, when Sirius had stopped by the house with James and Lily in tow. She can't remember much, only that Lily had been quiet and beautiful, with a soft voice. She hadn't wanted to see Tonk's butterfly collection, but she laughed and glanced at it anyway. She had been kind to Lupin, offered him comfort.

Tonks looks at the photograph and knows that he had in been in love with her. She's not sure what it is, but it's there. The quiet desperation carries, even through the years. She wonders if it will ever leave him, if the ghosts will ever fade. The ghosts that dull that smile, the ghosts that he loves, the ones that he has to hold onto in order to hold onto anything. Tonks decides then and there that he will instead hold onto her. She is going to hold onto him with all her might. Lily can't have him, because Lily is dead.

* * *

It's a few weeks later when she brings it up. Grimmaud Place is shrouded a chilly gloom that seems to be in cahoots with the weather. She's hidden away on a downtrodden couch, legs folded up underneath her staring out into the backyard and absently picking at the lint on her socks. The clods of dirt are slowly dissipating into mud as it pours, and she watches with great interest as the mud trails slowly consume what's left of the sidewalk.

Lupin holds two cracked mugs of tea, standing in threshold of the room, following her gaze into the rain. She turns to look at him, and he sits down next to her. He looks tired as he silently hands her a mug, and she notices he hasn't shaved in awhile. She sighs softly, pulling the picture from her pocket. He glances at it, eyebrows raised. Tonks meets his eyes.

"Did you love her?" Her voice sounds strained to her own ears. He's silent for a few minutes, and then he relaxes and shuts his eyes, leaning his head against the couch back.

"I think," he says slowly, "that I was in love with the idea of her."

"Oh."

She thinks that perhaps she's freed him from at least one ghost, so she lies her head in his lap and they watch as the steam rises from their mugs.

* * *

_I'm breathin in _

_I'm breathin out _

_So slip Inside this funky house _

_Wiggle while you work _

_Anybody can_

_The rain is pourin in on a woman & a man_


End file.
